Case No 07310605
by Estte
Summary: Harry Potter is a local FBI agent that has been working three months on a mysterious string of murders. Draco Malfoy, from the office in Washington DC, is assigned to help him. Where will the clues lead them? WARNING: Mature themes.


A/N: This story started as a role playing plot, but since I could never find someone to play it out, I decided to write the story. I'm not sure if this has been done before, if it has, I'm sorry. However, this came from watching too many crime shows.

I do not have a beta, so please excuse any errors you may find. If you are interested in being my beta, please contact me.

Thank you and enjoy.

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"You've got a live one, Harry," the director called out. "1904 Magnolia Street."

Disgruntled and tired, the lanky brunet forced himself out of his chair and grabbed his tattered brown coat. With terribly good aim, he picked up box of pens and threw it at the corner of the room where his partner was slumped over, asleep.

"Oi, what was that for," Ron groaned, rubbing his chest where Harry hit him.

"Got another one," he replied tiredly, shrugging on his coat as he watched his friend stretch. "This the second house in a week."

"Think they messed up this time? I mean, they could have gotten cocky."

He hoped Ron was right, because they had no leads. They had been working on the case for three months and nothing had turned up. No suspects. No motive. No clues. Whoever was doing the crimes were thorough, leaving no footprints, fingerprints, or even trails of blood. All the crime scenes were clean and it seemed that no signs of struggle took place in any of them.

"You drive, I have a headache."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what you always say," Ron sighed as he grabbed the key to the car and lead the way out of the office. "Lunch is on you."

The ride was short having been only ten blocks from the precinct. "Damn, right under our nose," Ron hissed, coming to a halt in front of the two story suburban home. "They are cocky."

Harry nodded as they climbed out of their car. He flashed his badge to the cop guarding the perimeter and walked under the tape. "Their victims are all different," he mumbled, eyeing the house. "The last family lived in a mobile home."

"That's why they're good," his partner replied, hands on his hips as he stared inside the open door where the forensic team was searching hard for clues. "No M.O., no way of getting caught."

Annoyed, he glared at Ron before he made his way into the house. Just as the other victims, their house was eerily clean, not even a picture out of alignment. "Maybe it's relative or a personal contact. How else would they have gotten in without making a mess?"

"Cleaned up, maybe? After they done it, you know," Ron offered.

Harry shook his head and found the dinning room, always the crime scene. "Forensics found no trace of cleaning supplies." He stood next to the table and stared down at the covered body. After a few moments of hesitation, he nodded and the uniform pulled off the sheet.

Arms wide and legs straight, was a woman in her forties, blonde, and pale. She was cut in the traditional 'y' shape that coroners used in autopsies and her skin was held to the table with forks. The ribs were removed and placed in a bowl next to the woman, which seemed to be cleaned of any blood and muscle. "The hearts gone," he groaned and turned away.

He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, hearing Ron do the same from the other side of the room. Squatting, he picked up her limp are which dangled over the table and eyed the slits on her wrists. "Completely dry."

"Bastards. Four people, all drained, all heartless. How on earth do they do this and no one hears it," Ron asked. He covered up a little girl and marked a cross over himself before he mumbled a prayer.

Harry never questioned why his friend did it. They had been friends since they were eleven and he knew Ron never went to church, yet he always said a prayer for victims. "Fear, maybe. These murders are in the press. Maybe they realized that they were going to die anyway, so why fight it? They couldn't have stood a chance."

"That pessimistic attitude won't get you very far in this line of work, Mr. Potter."

He jumped in shock and hit his head on the table. Harry groaned in pain and turned to see a bushy brunette standing in the dinning room with them. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, it could get you killed."

She laughed and nodded, holding the files in her arms a bit tighter. "I'm Hermoine Granger sent from Washington DC. I'm here to help you." Harry easily marked her as the bookworm type. The way her nose stuck up, she spent more time in case files than she did on the street. And by her reaction to his statement, he knew that she was insecure about something.

"DC? This is our case," Ron spat angrily. "We've been working for three months on this!"

"And you've gotten nowhere," came a new voice. A tall blond in a uncannily pressed black suit strolled in and smirked. Clean cut, chiseled face, and an air of pride around him, Harry could tell he wouldn't like the guy. "You need the help. You don't think that these murders only happened in your district, did you? This is the fifth state murders like these have happened."

Harry stood tall and frowned. "And it took you guys this long to figure that out? Finally woke up from a nap, have you?"

"You must be Harry Potter," the blond snorted. "Your temper proceeds you. We'll have to work on that if we're to be partners."

Red faced, Ron stomped over and poked the stranger in the chest, getting into his face. "He already has a partner, asshole. Who do you think you are anyway?"

"Draco Malfoy. Agent Draco Malfoy, given orders from the top to aide Harry Potter in this case. If you have any objections, we could always toss you in jail for obstruction of justice."

Harry rushed over and pulled Ron away from Malfoy before either of them got hurt. "Obviously you didn't do all of your homework. Ron's temper is worse than mine. Now, look, thanks for trying to come and help, but I have a partner and we're doing our best."

"I don't think you understand, Potter. You don't have a choice. I am your new partner and Weasley will be working with Ms. Granger to establish a psychological profile. He'll need some desk time to cool off anyway," he chortled.

Harry pushed Ron away again and glared at his new partner as he tried to calm the old one down. "Ron! Calm down. We can't override them," he sighed, obviously giving in. "Look, we'll solve the case together and get on with our lives."

Snorting like a bull, he pulled himself away from Harry and took several deep breaths. "Fine, but I want to help. I mean, really help. I still want to know all the facts. Don't leave me out because I can tell that asshole will."

Harry nodded, glad that he prevented another crime scene. "Let's get back to the house. If forensics found anything, they'll tell us, but I doubt it." He let Hermoine and Ron lead the way, just a few paces behind them. "You don't have to stare at me," he said over his shoulder to see Draco staring at him.

"Staring and studying are two different things," Malfoy replied with a roll of his eyes. "You don't fit the profile of a typical agent."

Defensively, Harry began to flatten his untamable hair and adjusted the collar of his jacket once again. "Well, you don't fit the profile of a typical male, but you don't see me pointing that out."

"You just did."

"And that was the point," he said tersely. He stopped just outside of the house and took a look at the neighborhood. On the lawn across the street was a sign. He pushed up his glasses and squinted his eyes to make out what it said. "Neighborhood watch. This is the first neighborhood with one of those since these started. Maybe they caught something."

Draco chuckled. "You think?" He pushed passed Harry, he headed to the SUV parked just behind the car Harry arrived in. "You drive."

Harry shook his head. "I don't drive."

"Well, now you do. Get in, Potter. We don't have time." Without further argument, he climbed into the passenger side and stared expectantly at the brunet through the window.

As he looked up to the sky and sighed, Harry muttered, "God, help me through this," before joining the blond on the driver's side.

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A/N: That was just a taste. How did you like it? I'd love some helpful feedback, but please, no flames.

Bonus points to people who can figure out the title. It should be easy.


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